Catch Me (As I Fall)
by Proclaim Thy Warrior Soul
Summary: Clint Barton was strangely at ease with discovering himself sprawled haphazardly in the kitchen doorway, head ringing with the blow it'd taken from the wooden door frame. It came with the territory when you had the unhealthy combination of cataplexy and a debilitating sleep disorder like narcolepsy… Narcoleptic!Clint
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Catch Me As I Fall

 **Author:** Proclaim Thy Warrior Soul

 **Rating:** T for Clint's potty mouth.

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Nothing, I tell you! I don't have, nor do I know anyone with, narcolepsy/cataplexy. Everything here is a result of what little research I was able to scrounge off the 'net and a huge dose of creative license. Apologies for anything I got wrong, and no offense is intended in any way.

 **Summary:** Clint Barton was strangely at ease with discovering himself sprawled haphazardly in the kitchen doorway, head ringing with the blow it'd taken from the wooden door frame. It came with the territory when you had the unhealthy combination of cataplexy and a debilitating sleep disorder like narcolepsy… Narcoleptic!Clint

 **Author's Notes:** Sequel to Suspicions, and part of the Sleeping Beauty 'verse.

* * *

 **Catch Me As I Fall**

The World's Greatest Marksman was strangely at ease with discovering himself sprawled haphazardly in the kitchen doorway, head ringing with the blow it'd taken from the wooden door frame.

" _Sonofa-_ "

Well, _mostly_ at ease.

It came with the territory when you had the unhealthy combination of cataplexy and a debilitating sleep disorder like narcolepsy. Add that to a course of meds that'd suddenly declared war on his magically-screwed brain chemistry, and you had the perfect recipe for disaster. _A Clint Barton shaped disaster._ Clint'd have to remember to thank Loki for that one when he saw him next, the asshole.

At least he hadn't bitten a large chunk out of his tongue in his fall and half choked to death on the resulting pool of blood...

 _This time._

Yeah, that one had been fun to explain. Because there were only so many ' _damn, I'm such a klutz!_ ' excuses an ex-carnie archer could make before people apparently grew suspicious.

 _Go figure._

The archer was trying to remember how to make his crumpled body move - because, _ow_ , he hurt, and the last thing he needed was for the others to find him in such a pathetic state - when his hearing aids detected a surprised inhale of breath that wasn't his own.

 _Fuck._

"Clint? What happened?"

Bruce Banner's gentle voice at his six almost startled the archer back into oblivion. _Seriously, who knew the bare-footed, bespectacled scientist was such a goddamn ninja?!_

Refusing to allow his muscles the liberty of any kind of weakness in front of the scientist, Clint stifled a yawn as he braced his entire weight against the door frame and fought his way to his feet. "Oh, hey, man..."

There. Mission accomplished. So what if it was more leaning than actual standing...

Ignoring the wave of dizziness and the violent protest of the leg that'd been folded under the weight of his body for god knows how long, Clint tried and failed to blink the ever present aura of exhaustion away before he made a fool of himself.

 _Again._

"I, uh, heard the explosion from Tony's lab," the grey-haired scientist explained quietly when Barton didn't offer any further comment, making an obvious effort to keep his distance in case he thought Clint needed a moment to collect himself. "I thought it wise to make sure everybody was okay."

So it was Stark's fault. The unexpected explosion must've triggered his cataplexy. _Fantastic._

"S'alright, Bruce. 'm good..."

The strangled growl from Banner's direction warned Clint that his ridiculously slurred excuse probably wasn't washing with the doctor.

"Hm. You maybe want to try that one again?"

Clint ignored the crack of his jaw as he yawned once more, turning his head slowly to face the physicist whilst still using the door frame as a means to support his tiring body. The sudden temptation to just close his eyes and give in to everything was a scarily desperate one. If not for the fact that it would only encourage interference from the team - and from the two versions of Banner his addled brain was currently seeing - he'd happily capitulate. God knows he could use the rest. A few minutes wouldn't hurt anyone. _Right?_

Too late, Clint noticed his legs giving way beneath him, the pull of sleep winning the silent battle far too easily. "Oh, _shit..._ "

This was definitely not one of his best days.

Before he could hit the floor, Bruce was there at Clint's side, easily taking the weight of the taller man's limp body.

"Clint, can you tell me what's wrong? Are you dizzy? Did you hit your head?"

The archer could just about make out the note of panic in the doctor's voice before he lost his fight with consciousness for the second time that day.

*S*L*E*E*P*I*N*G*B*E*A*U*T*Y*

Part 1 of 2


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** Catch Me (As I Fall)

 **Author:** Proclaim Thy Warrior Soul

 **Rating:** T for Clint's potty mouth.

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing. I don't have, nor do I know anyone with, narcolepsy/cataplexy. Everything here is a result of what little research I was able to scrounge off the 'net and a huge dose of creative license. Apologies for anything I got wrong, and no offense is intended in any way.

 **Summary:** Clint Barton was strangely at ease with discovering himself sprawled haphazardly in the kitchen doorway, head ringing with the blow it'd taken from the wooden door frame. It came with the territory when you had the unhealthy combination of cataplexy and a debilitating sleep disorder like narcolepsy… Narcoleptic!Clint

 **Author's Notes:** Sequel to Suspicions, and part of the Sleeping Beauty 'verse.

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

 _"...s'the pills tha' made me..."_

Clint's mouth apparently woke up a few seconds before the rest of his brain, eyes snapping open to find the concerned face of Bruce staring down at him.

Huh, no more double vision. That was a bonus.

"Clint?"

Swallowing thickly, the archer closed his eyes and took a moment to just breathe whilst he attempted to reassemble his thoughts.

The lack of cold, hard floor beneath him suggested that Bruce had moved Clint somewhere a little more comfortable than the kitchen doorway, which, _hey_ , that was nice of him, _right?_ And apart from the usual sounds that occupied the Tower, he didn't detect the familiar concerned/annoyed/impatient bustle from the rest of the team that surrounded him whenever he'd inevitably gotten himself injured on a mission. Which meant, for whatever reason, the scientist hadn't called the others in...

 _Maybe Clint could still salvage this after all._

Forcing heavy eyelids open, Clint offered Banner a lopsided grin that turned all too quickly into a jaw-cracking yawn. "Hey, man."

Bruce offered a small smile in return but his whole demeanour screamed concern. "Hey, yourself. How're you feeling?"

Clint pretended to think about it for a moment, instead using the time to survey the room once Bruce backed off a little to give him space to breathe. Turns out he was sacked out on one of the plush leather sofas that lined the rec room walls. Bruce had even kindly drawn the curtains shut to block out most of the light.

 _Huh._

Deciding a little honesty was the way to go, Clint offered a self-deprecating shrug as he stifled yet another yawn. "Well, I've definitely felt better."

Barton took the silence after a soft hum of acknowledgement from Banner as a sign that he needed to move. The quicker he was back on his feet the more believable his story would sound and the less questions Bruce would ask. That, and he'd get out of the man's hair; leave him in peace. At least, that was the theory he was running with. _Or maybe he was just running..._

Whatever.

Gripping the back of the couch with one arm, Clint ignored the fresh wave of dizziness as he forced his body upright. "Listen, Bruce, thanks man." The fact that the room didn't stop spinning was making his bid for freedom that much more difficult but Clint continued anyway, sliding his aching body nearer to the edge of the seat. "I, uh... So, as it turns out, I'm an idiot."

Bruce's soft sigh as he watched Clint's poor attempt at pretending he was okay came out a little louder than he'd anticipated. The archer paused in his mission to escape the sofa, just long enough to catch Bruce's eye before he looked away, head hanging low.

It was enough for Bruce to see that Clint looked _exhausted._

Not the long, hard day at work kind of exhausted, either. The type that came from weeks, if not months of little to no proper sleep. Bruce should know; he'd been there himself, once upon a time. The sickly pallor of the younger man's skin made the fresh bruise at his temple stand out all the more, whilst the dark smudges around his sunken eyes reminded the physicist of the late night zombie marathon Tony'd bribed him into watching a few week's back.

"Clint, _are you okay?"_

It was a dumb question, really; Bruce knew it before the words had even left his mouth. But now that he had the opportunity to think on it, Banner couldn't recall much of his interactions with Clint over the last few months since they'd all moved into Stark's Tower. _Because there hadn't been any,_ at least not outside of a mission. An odd appearance at dinner here; an occasional nod in the hallway there, but that was the extent of it when they weren't on the battlefield. It made his chest tight at the sudden flood of guilt that washed over him.

"Me? Seriously, man, I'm fine. I just forgot that the migraine meds mess with my head. S'why I don't usually bother with them but today was a bad day and I just-"

Bruce's arm on his shoulder stopped Clint's ramble mid flow. The archer held his breath as he waited for...for what, he didn't know. For Bruce to laugh at him, to call him an irresponsible idiot, a liar?

Nope, it was worse.

"Sit back down and I'll bring you some tea," Bruce ordered, his voice kind but firm.

Clint frowned, wondering for a moment if his ears were working properly. "You don't have to-"

"I find it helps," Banner continued, as if Clint hadn't spoken. "With the migraines. At least it does for me. JARVIS can monitor you for signs of a concussion whilst I'm gone and he can keep the others away while you rest."

Clint's head was spinning, and not just from his knock to the head. The urge to flee was growing with every passing second, but Bruce was having none of it. "Bruce, _wait-"_

"Clint, you look like you're going to pass out. _Again._ That's if you ever manage to make it to your feet. Migraines aren't something you should mess with. Trust me on this, I'm a doctor." The last was said with a sly smile. Clint was too dumbstruck to argue with him, so Banner managed to vacate the room before he had the chance to think of anything worthwhile to say.

"Huh..."

Deciding that he'd caused enough irreparable damage to his reputation already, and that he didn't really feel up to pissing off Banner's particularly scary alter ego, Clint cursed his stupidity as he dragged himself back into a more comfortable position on the sofa, swallowing down a yawn.

 _This was so not going to plan._

Before he knew it, Bruce had returned with a steaming cup of herbal tea and a plate of sandwiches. "Décaf," he explained as he handed the drink over, purposefully ignoring the tremble of Clint's hands. "JARVIS says you're not concussed, so that's good. You should drink. _And eat._ And get some rest. You look like you need it."

Clint _did_ need it. It was the reason he was in this position in the first place, but he wasn't about to admit that - no matter how nice Banner was being to him. Let him think he'd pushed himself too hard. It was his go-to explanation whenever shit like this happened. It'd worked pretty well so far... Well, that and keeping himself to himself.

Taking a small sip of his tea, Clint couldn't help the groan of pure bliss as the hot liquid hit his stomach. His empty stomach that gave a loud gurgle as it reminded him that he hadn't eaten in a while.

Bruce simply smirked and shoved the plate of sandwiches into his lap. "Eat. I'll leave you alone, but JARVIS can let me know if you need anything else."

As he turned to leave, Clint stopped him with a gentle hand on his wrist. "Bruce... _Thank you._ " His voice cracked pathetically with the rush of emotion he fought to keep under control, but the physicist just smiled before heading for the door.

"I'm here if you ever need anything, Clint," he called back as he walked out into the hallway. "The whole team are. Remember that."

Clint busied himself with swallowing another mouthful of his tea so he didn't have to dwell on Banner's words.

Because that's all they were: _words._

Clint'd learnt the hard way throughout his life that he was nothing but a liability. He still counted every day that he didn't get thrown out of Stark's Tower, thrown off the team, as a miracle. It was bad enough that they knew about his hearing loss, but if they ever found out about the narcolepsy, his cataplexy... He wouldn't be an Avenger any longer, that was for sure.

There was no Coulson to cover his ass these days. _No,_ Clint had to do this on his own.

Appetite gone, Clint pushed the plate of sandwiches away and placed his cooling cup on the side.

"I've gotta get out of here..."

When Bruce poked his head into the room half an hour later, intending to see if Clint needed anything, he was disheartened to find the rec room empty, no obvious signs that the young archer had ever been there.

"JARVIS?"

"Agent Barton is back in his quarters, Doctor Banner. He appears to be in the middle of a workout, but if you'd like me to-"

"No. Thank you, JARVIS."

Heading back towards his own quarters, Bruce came to the conclusion that Barton needed someone to look out for him, whether he liked it or not. Making a mental note to pop over to check on the archer a little later, he changed direction and headed for Tony's lab, needing to clear his head for a little while.

End.

* * *

 **Notes:** Coming soon: Natasha catches Clint medicating.

I would love to hear your thoughts and any suggestions :) PTWS


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